


Summertime

by AnnieforSimonsflower



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Erotica, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Heterosexual Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Sex, The Quidditch Pitch: Erotic Couplings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-21
Updated: 2007-07-21
Packaged: 2018-10-27 19:49:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10815549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnieforSimonsflower/pseuds/AnnieforSimonsflower
Summary: Harry hates parties, but agrees to attend this one because Ron talked him into it.  He doesn't regret the choice.





	Summertime

**Author's Note:**

> This story is archived on behalf of Simons_flower, who passed away in 2009, by her designated archivist.

  
Author's notes: For the July 2007 [](http://community.livejournal.com/erotic_elves/profile?mode=full)[**erotic_elves**](http://community.livejournal.com/erotic_elves/) [challenge](http://community.livejournal.com/erotic_elves/211385.html):  Endings and Beginnings.  On a personal note, this is the last fic completed before the release of _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_  – finished in Borders in the hour before release, but before.  


* * *

** Summertime **

I can't figure out why I let myself be talked into these things. I hate parties. I despise being fawned over by people who don't know me, I despise having to make small talk that consists of talk that specifically avoids the war as if that means it didn't happen, and I despise having drinks shoved into my hand by the twins. The last time Fred Weasley shoved a drink into my hand, I woke the next morning nude next to Ginny Weasley. Both of us were incredibly embarrassed and I no longer drink anything at parties the twins attend.

 

This one is a masquerade to celebrate midsummer. George Weasley heard about how popular the last one thrown by Draco Malfoy was and vowed to beat the ferret at his own game. Not that I really think Malfoy knows there's a competition or cares, but it seems to matter to George. Ron coerced me into this party by telling me I could lie to everyone by telling them I was wearing a Harry Potter glamour rather than that I really am Harry Potter.

 

So here I find myself somewhere I don't want to be, somewhere I can't drink, and Ron is nowhere to be found. Colin Creevey told me earlier that Ron was sweet-talking a blonde out by the pool so I imagine he's either been shot down and is licking his wounds or he got lucky and she's licking him.

 

My jaw aches and I realize I'm clenching my teeth. Breaking the vow to myself, I take a champagne glass from a tray carried by a passing elf. Lifting it to my mouth, I freeze.

 

I know time doesn't stop, that it's just a perception, but when I spot the woman across the room, time stops.

 

She's sitting at the bar, one leg swinging slightly in no particular rhythm. I follow the long line of her leg from the red stiletto heel to her hip, skin exposed for the entire length. I blink. Her skirt is tiny, black and slit to the waist. Heartbeat stuttering, I feel sweat break out just under my fringe. The tight jeans I'm wearing don't allow my cock enough freedom, putting me in pain, but I don't care at the moment. Eyes moving higher, I nearly groan aloud when I see she's wearing a red corset trimmed in black lace, cantilevering her breasts to allow a wonderful view for anyone taller than her. Her caramel-colored hair is pinned behind her ears but left to fall free nearly to the middle of her back.

 

The thought passes through my mind that her entire body could be a glamour despite the instruction on the invitation to limit glamours to the shoulders and up. However, at the moment, it doesn't matter. Even if her entire body is a glamour, I'm caught hook, line and completely sunk.

 

Downing the glass of champagne, I give the empty glass to another elf and cross the room.

 

Even though I'm Harry Potter and girls throw themselves at me, I'm not very good with them. They expect a one-night stand and I'm looking for something more. If Ginny could have worked out, it would have been perfect, but she was too much work -- high maintenance she called herself.

 

Therefore, with my abysmal track record in mind, I approach the woman at the bar with trepidation.

 

"Can I get you a drink?" I ask.

 

It's nearly all I can do not to moan when she turns to me. Her face has a slight heart-shape to it, reminding me vaguely of someone I can't recall, but her almond-shaped dark brown eyes capture my attention. I can sense the glamour she's wearing but, without probing, can't be sure what's real and what's conjured.

 

"You may," she replies.

 

I flag the bartender and gesture for another glass of champagne for both of us. Silence falls between us, but it isn't as awkward as I would have thought.

 

She takes a delicate sip when the champagne arrives, holding the glass to her lips until she's sure she has my attention. Red-polished fingernails tap lightly against the bar as she sets the glass down. I'm riveted to her actions, the sweat beaded just under my fringe increasing once again, as she slides her thumb and two fingers slowly up the stem of the glass. She taps a fingernail against the glass at the top of the stem before moving downward once again.

 

I know it's deliberate and I know it's a tease but damned if I can't imagine her hand stroking my cock the same way. Shifting my weight from one foot to the other draws her eyes downward. The knowing smile that turns one corner of her mouth makes me swallow hard.

 

She lifts her eyes to mine, once more giving me that jolt of arousal and vague recognition. "Would you like to go someplace more private?"

 

My brain knows that's a come-on line, that she's seducing me without any protest on my part. My cock is the one thinking at the moment, though, and I answer, "Yes, I'd like that."

 

Giving the bartender a short wave and pushing our glasses back, she slides off the seat like she's pouring herself onto the floor. Her heels make her just a couple inches shorter than me. Glancing over her shoulder as she walks in front of me gets me the view I imagined from across the room: cleavage nearly to her nipples, but not quite.

 

She leads me out the side door onto a fairly secluded balcony over the gardens. Her skin is luminescent from the nearly-full moon and pale yellow lights on either side of the glass door.

 

She turns to face me and lean back against the railing. Hands braced on either side of her hips, she crosses her ankles as she looks at me. A quick look over my shoulder verifies the door is shut.

 

"What should I call you?" she asks. Her eyes are devouring me as I take the four steps across the balcony to stand in front of her. Her tongue slides over her lips as I close the distance between us.

 

Though I'm not touching her, I'm so close that I can smell her, the tang of sweat from her neck and, below that, the musk of her arousal.

 

I smile, causing her to draw breath in a near-gasp. "You can call me Harry."

 

She smiles as well, amused. "Playing up the glamour?"

 

There's no need to answer. Taking a step closer, I'm torn between worry and surprise. Though I'm no stranger to one-night stands, none have been this easy to seduce.

 

She leans forward, breath hot and damp against my lips. "You can call me Jane, Harry."

 

Her hands tangle in my perpetually messy hair as her lips crash against mine.

 

I briefly question my assumption that _I've_ seduced _her_ before deciding it doesn't matter.

 

A half-step closes the last distance between our bodies. Wiggling slightly against me, she moans against my mouth. I trace the seam of her lips with the tip of my tongue until she parts her lips, allowing my tongue inside. We both moan this time. Slipping one hand up her back to the nape of her neck, I deepen the kiss. Her hands grip my shoulders from behind, holding me to her.

 

I had thought it was lust burning through me before, but that was nothing compared to the desire pulsing through my veins and in my cock now. She fits perfectly against me, her curves and taste and smell making me want to possess her.

 

Pulling back slightly, I break the kiss. My lips find their way to her jaw, then back toward her ear.

 

One of her hands slips down to grab my ass. A strangled gasp escapes me, making her laugh lightly.

 

"Jane," I growl. I don't know if her name is a question or begging, but I also don't think that it matters.

 

"Mmm, Harry," she replies breathily.

 

She shifts her hand to slide it down the back of my jeans, tightening the fly against my cock even more.

 

There is some part of me, deep down, that's mortified by my sudden desire to tear my jeans open, flap up her skirt, rip off any knickers she might be wearing and plunge deep into her. The rest of me, the majority really, thinks it's a damn good idea. I usually have more self-control than I'm exhibiting now, than I'm feeling right now. Treating women like their only use is for sex is not my usual behavior.

 

Then she hisses, "Fuck me."

 

Normally I'd resist. Normally I'd still have enough self-control to resist.

 

Not now.

 

Tangling my hand in her hair and pulling hard enough that it has to hurt her though she doesn't complain, I slant my mouth over hers once again. The feel of her pulling my shirt from my jeans and raking her fingernails down my back is a distant thrill.

 

Feverishly, I give her one last kiss before turning her around and bending her slightly over the railing.

 

Her breath catches. I see the edge of her smile as she spreads her arms out to brace herself on the railing.

 

I take a step back to admire the view, but fumble heatedly with my jeans when she moans. I get my jeans undone but use a swiftly muttered spell to Banish my pants. I nearly moan in relief as the pressure on my cock is suddenly gone, but stay silent.

 

Instead, I slide one hand up her thigh, seeing her knickers. I find none.

 

"Fuck," I rasp.

 

"Please," she responds, thrusting backwards.

 

I need no further prompting. Hands tight on her hips, I nudge against her pussy with the head of my cock. Her responding moan is guttural.

 

Any other time, I'd ask if she's sure this is what she wants. Not this time. Not only am I certain this is what she wants, I don't think uncertainty on her part would change my mind -- and that's a terrible thing to admit, even to myself.

 

Despite the still-present urge to just thrust deep, I ease myself into her. Her breathing speeds to a panting moan until I'm fully inside her.

 

"Fuck," I mutter again. She feels so good wrapped hot, tight and wet around me.

 

"Harry." My name is a harsh whisper of need.

 

Complying with her unspoken request, I thrust several times. She clenches around my cock as if she doesn't wan tot let me go. Honestly, I don't want to go.

 

Much closer to orgasm than I expected myself, I want her to come first. Releasing one hip, I slip my hand down to find her clit.

 

"Oh, please," she pants, clenching around me at the same time she wiggles against me.

 

The next few moments are a blur of need and lust and the hot musk of arousal. Fingering her clit at the same time, I pound into her in the exact way I'd imagined when I first saw her all of thirty minutes ago. She meets me thrust for thrust, apparently just as desperate for me as I am for her.

 

With a feral smile on my face, I flick her clit again, making her shudder and mewl helplessly with her climax.

 

Tightening my grip on her hip, I thrust deeply into her twice before I boil over with my orgasm. Pouring myself into her feels like more than just a climax: it feels like a release in the truest sense of the word.

 

A shuddering sigh escapes each of us as I withdraw.

 

I have no idea what to say to her. Beyond being awkward with women in the first place, I don't usually give into animal lust like this either. I tuck myself back into my jeans, feeling oddly nervous as I do so.

 

"Holy cricket, Harry," she murmurs, straightening as she tugs her skirt down over her ass.

 

_Wait a minute...._

 

I grab her shoulder and spin her around.

 

"Hermione?"

 

Jane smiles before pulling her wand from her cleavage. A softly murmured spell and a wave of her wand melts the glamour on her face. To my further astonishment, her body doesn't change. _Why've I never noticed that body before?_

 

"Hello, Harry," she says, smiling nervously.

 

_I just fucked my best friend on a balcony like a slag._

 

She brings a hand up to cup my cheek. "I knew it was you."

 

I blink stupidly, still held mute by horrified shock.

 

_Wait...she knew it was me? She knew it was me and seduced me anyway?_

 

"Hermione?" Her name is more asking for confirmation of my train of thought than her identify this time.

 

She's always been able to know what I'm thinking. This time is no exception. She flashes a tender smile before kissing me just as tenderly.

 

"Yes, Harry," she responds.

 

I blink rapidly, then grin and gather her in my arms. Before she can protest, I Apparate us to my flat. To my bedroom. Tossing her back on my bed, I lick my lips in anticipation.

 

"I want you as Hermione this time," I growl.

 

She smiles and opens her arms. "I'm right here."


End file.
